Entitlement?

The other day returning from the Tummy Temple, I arrived at the top of the hill waiting for the light to change. A bus stopped and let a passenger off. He started walking up the sidewalk and then crossed over to the other side of the street before the light changed.

I peddled across the street then pulled over to the curb behind a parked truck waiting for the traffic to pass by me. This is a usual routine. Even though it is a wide street, cars parked on one side and trucks parked on the other side leave little room for two cars to pass, much less a two-wheeler.

I rode up to the corner of my block and pulled over to the curb. There wasn’t any traffic coming, but the fella was walking down the sidewalk and I anticipated we’d both meet at the alley so I waited for him to go pass. I do the same for joggers and people walking their dogs. Besides, in this time of social distancing, I can give other’s personal space.

As I waited, he turned back and saw me watching him.

I was not making any threatening actions and he was not acting suspicious, but at that moment time froze.

It was a sign of these times.

He continued walking and disappeared down the alleyway. I paused for a minute or two before crossing the street and dismounting. The guy was halfway down the block so I continued to the gate and finished my unpacking.

I have no idea who that guy is but he is not from around here. The usual vision of ponytail moms pushing strollers or walking their dogs or jogging up and down the streets do not wear camo pants, purple dashikis and black do-rags.

Did I mention this guy I saw was Afro-American? I hate that term so I’ll just say he didn’t look like others from around these parts.

This neighborhood has changed little from the time my father moved here in ’53. Everyone drove the same type of car, had the same type of house, went to the same schools and churches and all looked the same. This was the Jim Crow south of conformity and everyone accepted it.

Sure there were ‘coloreds’ (excuse the terminology but using the most acceptable slang of the time). Negro, I believe, was the term used in the newspaper. I saw them on the other side of Broad Street. I saw them cleaning the dishes or the floors but they were like children ‘only to be seen and not heard’. It wasn’t until high school I ever had any interaction with a person of color.

We had a culture they were not invited to and they had a culture we were not invited to. The church taught we are all God’s Children, but there were exceptions.

I have worked with many ‘people of color’ but have not invited them out for a drink after work or been invited to their BBQ. I think I feel no remorse or anger to another unless they do me wrong, but not the color of their skin. I learned a lot of good music rhythms and beats and some jokes I’m still laughing at. Yet you can’t hide the difference.

Still there is this divide?

I have records of my ancestors buying people. That is history. I grew up in a time before the Freedom Riders and Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, but I’ve learned along the way.

I also know that racist feelings are still in my generation and hope the next generation or the one after that can blend together.

Entitled?

I like my neighborhood. While the diversity might not be the same as the Fan, it is not a gated community. There are ‘people of color’ living here. Anyone who can pay the prices for these houses and keep their plots of land neat, I welcome them, but the black jogger I pass on my daily ride still stands out among the others.

When you don’t look like you belong around here, people get suspicious, then fearful.

Will it change?